


Of Apologies and Heroes

by Pronunciation_Hermy_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/F, F/M, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pronunciation_Hermy_One/pseuds/Pronunciation_Hermy_One
Summary: For four years, Harry has been haunted by the serial murders of his friends and family. This year, the killer sends him on a chase to hunt him down before he claims his final victims.





	Of Apologies and Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> 12 Days of Christmas

December 1, 2009

It’s cold. Its 2am, and it’s bloody fucking cold. Harry is trying to do anything but grumble as he walks down the pier towards Ron, but it’s exceedingly difficult. He blows into his hands, rubbing them back and forth vigorously.

He had been warm just a few moments ago. Very warm. And in bed. With his fiancé. All of these things were infinitely better than where he is now. This, however, is part of his job, and so he is there.

“Sorry to drag you out of bed at this hour, Harry.” Ron hands him a steaming cup and he wraps his hands around it before taking a sip.

“Duty calls.” Harry mumbles into his mug as he thinks of the other things calling, namely Theo and his bed.

“Thought you’d want to know first.” They’re walking toward the end of the pier now, and Harry’s mind screeches to a halt and then into overdrive.

“Oh, shit. It’s December.”

“It’s December.” Ron concurs.

“No.” Harry whispers. “Not this early…” he trails off, the question hanging in the air.

“Washed up about thirty minutes ago. They called me first, I called you immediately.”

Harry stops to look at Ron for the first time since he arrived. His eyes are red and his face is flushed, his hands are curled into fists at his side, and he’s trembling, but it’s clearly not from the cold.

“Shit, Ron. I’m, I’m fucking sorry, mate.”

“You got last year’s without me. Guess it was about my turn. M.L.E. is waiting.” They make it to the end of the pier and Harry stares at a man who jumps to his feet, coming to stand next to a heavy black sheet under which he knows is a body. 

“Mr. Potter.” His hand is extended and Harry stares at him for a moment before shaking it.

“What can you tell us…” he gazes down at the man’s robes but sees nothing to furnish his name.

“Patrick, sir. Samuel Patrick.”

“Right. Patrick, what can you tell us?”

“Approximately 55 year old male, found by a muggle couple walking at 1:22am. They heard a shout and then a splash from the bridge, looked like someone was leaping into the river, they said. We intercepted the call from the muggles, obliviated them as per your directives, and put up repelling charms.”

Ron’s still shaking next to him, and Harry feels sick. “How are you so sure it’s the same?”

He speaks hurriedly, as if afraid he’ll lose Ron and Harry’s attention if he takes too long. “Well, his throat is slashed like the…”

“Others. Yes, I know the M.O.”

Patrick falters before continuing. “No water in the lungs. It looks as if he was dead before they dumped him.”

Harry nods, kneeling down beside the body.

“Also, sir. He’s been numbered.”

Well, that was that. “Ten?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find his wand?”

“We never do.” Harry sighs as Patrick shakes his head, pulling back the sheet.

“Fuck.” His hair is wet, frozen in the cold night air, and matted with blood. His skin is pale, bloodless and lifeless, and there on his forehead shines the number ten. But, there’s no mistaking him.

“Isn’t that—” 

“Fucking hell. Lucius Malfoy.” Ron murmurs. “This is gonna be huge.” 

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit.” Harry is vomiting into the river now. Theo’s face is spinning through his mind. Draco’s voice is screaming in his head. 

“Patrick, you could have led with who it is, for fucks sake!” 

“I’m sorry, sir! Impersonal and factual. That’s what they say! We should—”

Harry is no longer listening, though. He has been dreading this all year. He dreads the month of December every year now. They’ve turned up at dead ends following every lead for four years, and Harry is no closer to an answer than he was the first night when his world changed forever. The familiar tune rings through his mind and he shuts it down quickly.

Ron is searching Lucius now, turning out his pockets and looking through his cloak. Patrick is watching him curiously.

“Found it.” There is a small vial and he uncorks it, pulling a tiny scroll from within and unfurling it before reading aloud.

“For your tenth victim at Christmas I present to you, the House of Slytherin.”

“Jumped from the bridge you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lords a leaping. Fuck me, this is going to be bad.”

“Are— are there always notes?” Patrick is speaking again, and Harry turns, half forgetting he has been there.

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t that published?”

“Because I said so.” Harry’s tone is final and Patrick’s eyes widen as he nods.

“Take him in. Do it quietly. Keep it quiet as long as possible, Patrick.”

He nods, returning to the body as Harry and Ron walk back up the pier.

“I gotta go tell Malfoy. I’m going to have to bring Theo with me.” He swallows. “I have to go tell Theo.”

“Go home, Harry. It’s gonna be a long month. We’ll talk to Draco in the morning.”

“I can’t do that.”

Ron stares at him, lips pursed. “It’s gonna be a long fucking month.”

Harry remains still, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry, Ron.”

“We don’t have to do this every year, Harry.” 

“I didn’t protect her.”

Ron is blinking rapidly. “Neither did I. It’s not your fault, Harry.”

“Four years this month. And I didn’t protect her.”

“Ginny didn’t need protecting, Harry. She was… fuck, you know as well as I do she didn’t need protecting. She needs justice. If we don’t catch this guy this year, we may never have the opportunity.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re sorry again, Harry. Just don’t. I’m sorry. You’re sorry. We’re all sorry. She’s gone. It changes nothing. Let’s just solve this before we get to 11 and not let a dozen deaths mean _nothing.”_

Harry nods numbly as he and Ron lock eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, mate.” And then he is gone.

Heading home to Theo is usually the highlight of Harry’s day. Now, it feels like a weight heavy on his shoulders as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

When he opens them again he’s standing on their front step. The door opens before he can even reach it, and Theo is standing there.

“You left.”

“Work.”

“It’s December.”

Harry winces.

“Was I right?”

Harry nods.

“Slytherin. Well, saved the best for last, I see.”

Harry is still standing in the snow on their front step and Theo is scanning his face.

“Get in the house, Potter.”

Harry walks through the door, his stomach twisting into knots as he walks to the kitchen, hand in hand with Theo. There is a steaming mug sitting there waiting for him, and he squeezes his hand in thanks. 

“Theo-”

“Don’t sugarcoat it. I can tell by your face it’s not good.”

“I’m going to need you to go with me to the Malfoy’s.”

Theo’s eyes narrow and Harry can see the color drain from his face. “Draco?”

“Lucius.”

Theo looks to the left, over Harry’s shoulder, and stares unblinkingly for a moment before he nods and stands. “I’ll get dressed.”

 

 

<——————————->

 

 

December 10, 2009

 

The service for Lucius Malfoy is small and closed. Just family, which includes Theo and thusly Harry. Somber. Stoic. Silent. The Slytherins are as Slytherin as Harry has ever seen, but he knows, behind their eyes, he can see it there.

Draco has been staring at Harry for the last hour, a whiskey clutched tightly in his hand.

“Relax, Potter.” Theo whispers, running a hand down his arm.

Harry turns to face him. He’s tired and angry and… sad. “He hates me.”

“He does not.”

“He blames me.”

“You’re the only one blaming you, Potter.” Draco is beside him now, staring intently.

“I’m so sor—”

Draco cuts him off. “Don’t. Most of the world isn’t. You certainly shouldn’t be. It’s not how he deserved to go, but it’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t—”

“No one believes you waited until they got to Slytherin, Potter. Come off it. You can sit here and concoct these reasons for us to hate you, or you can get back out there and fucking find who’s behind it. You’ve suffered enough for all of us.”

Harry bites his lip to keep from speaking. Draco would just interrupt him again, anyway. Finally, he nods.

“Any leads?”

“None.” He sees Draco and Theo exchange a dark look and instantly believes they think he’s not working hard enough.

“We’re working day and night. Around the clock. We’re trying, there’s just fucking nothing to go on.” Harry is whispering hotly. 

“I know you’re working on it, Harry. I’ve been up at your place every night with Theo since it happened and you’ve not been around once. It’s not a question of working hard enough.”

Harry’s mouth drops. He realizes he’s been gone a lot, but it now hits him he hasn’t really seen Theo in 10 days until this moment.

“I’m sorry, Theo. —I”

“Oh for fucks sake. Is apologizing all he can do?” Draco scoffs.

Theo wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Nah, He has a few more skills.” The bastard winks. Immediately Harry feels his cheeks are red.

“I should—”

“Get back to the office. Yeah, we know.” Theo chuckles, kissing him on the temple. “I’ll see him out, Draco. Want me to stay?” 

Draco nods. “Thanks, mate.” He turns to Harry. “We’ll see you at Parkinson’s on Christmas Eve, yeah?” 

Harry blinks. “You’re still going?” 

“And miss the biggest event of the year? She’d hex my balls off if I miss it. Besides, Astoria’s been working on it with her and dragged Theo and I into it. You know Astoria.”

“Ah, yeah. Theo mentioned something about that. What’re you doing?”

Theo rolls his eyes. “You’ll see. A very Muggle Christmas. Muggle carols and something about a baby born in a barn. Strangest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Harry laughs and wraps an arm around Draco, hugging him goodbye. No more apologies. Harry is going to end this.

Theo walks him to the floo. “Go get him, Potter.”

“I love you.”

He winks. “I know.”

 

 

<——————————->

 

December 17, 2009

 

Harry is asleep. He is asleep at his desk when Ron comes barging into the office.

“Get up, Harry. M.L.E. floo’d. We’ve got to go now. It’s Samuel again.”

“Who?” Harry is trying to gather his wits as he stands up. 

“Samuel. Samuel Patrick. The M.L.E. bloke who found Lucius.”

Harry nods and gathers his cloak, glancing at the address Ron hands him and apparating.

There is a small crowd already outside of a perimeter set around a tree. And there, hanging from it, is a man, his feet swinging 6’ above the ground.

Harry and Ron approach at a dead run. “Fucking take him down. Are you insane? People can see!”

He glances up again and pales. “Holy shit. Ron. Look.”

“Fucking hell. Gideon Crumb.”

Harry raises his wand and lowers the man gently to the ground. 

“A Piper.” Harry spits, closing Gideon’s eyes with his hand, and looks around for a blanket to cover him with. “How long can we keep this quiet?” He asks, staring at the number eleven carved into his forehead.

“A member of the Weird Sisters? Maybe until morning.” Ron stands, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Unlikely with this crowd already here.” He nods toward the perimeter.

“Oh!” Patrick gasps, realizing who it is.  “I heard they’re playing a party here next week! And it’s rumored they have a reunion tour coming up! This is going to be—”

“Shut up.” Ron hisses at him. “Find a blanket and show the man some respect!”

There’s blood everywhere. It’s splashed down his front and pooled under where he was hanging in the tree.

“They must’ve slit his throat after he was hung.”

“Or at the same time.”

Patrick returns with a large cloth and covers Gideon entirely. “This is the second Slytherin yeah? There were the three Ravenclaws last year, three Hufflepuff’s in 2007, and then the first year…” he trails off.

Harry can’t breathe.

“Leave it be, Samuel.” Ron‘s voice is low and clipped.

“I’ve been going through the files. I want to be helpful.”

Red hair and freckles assault his vision. Kisses beneath the mistletoe. She’s beautiful, laughing and dancing in front of the fireplace. She's wearing these stupid furry boots she loves and his old quidditch jersey, spinning and giggling in the kitchen at something he’s said.

“You can be helpful by shutting up.” Ron is growling now.

“The first year, though— ‘06. We only have files on two Gryffindors. And the first had a number two carved into her face. But, there have been three for every other house.”

And then the vision changes and she is lying there in a puddle of blood beneath their Christmas tree. Her throat is slashed wide open. He’s running and then he is on his knees beside her, pressing his hands against her neck to stop the bleeding. But it’s too much, and it won’t stop, seeping through his fingers and staining the floor below. Red bleeds into red as it soaks into her hair, a crimson halo crowning her head.

“Isn’t that how you put it together? The 12 days? I looked it up. On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—”

His heart stops beating entirely as he remembers the song, so faint at first, drifting through the room. He’d thought it was the wireless at first, but it wasn’t on, and they wouldn’t have been playing a muggle carol. And then the laughter ringing through the room as he screamed for help. The sound of his cries, the song drifting in and out when he paused for breath, and that laughter assaulting him as he cradled her lifeless body on the ground…

“So we’re obviously missing a Gryffindor, the real number one. We should look—”

But Samuel stops speaking as Ron’s fist collides with the side of his jaw. Then they are on the ground, Ron straddling Samuel’s chest as he pummels his fists into the other man’s face.

“Ron.” Harry means to stop him, but he’s frozen in place.

There is blood dripping from Samuel’s face, Ron’s knuckles, and it is mixing with the pool of red soaked on the ground from Gideon.

Men in uniforms run from all sides, pulling Ron off of him, separating them. Harry can only stare. 

“I told him to keep his bloody fucking mouth _shut!_ ” Ron is bellowing, and the crowd around the perimeter has grown. 

“You’re a fucking lunatic, Weasley!” Samuel is screaming, clutching his face as he struggles to stand. “I was trying to help!”

Ron is holding Harry to him now, staggering away from the tree. “Get this scene wrapped up and get me a fucking report by morning.” He’s still pushing Harry away from Gideon’s body and Samuel’s screaming. They’re stumbling over one another and slipping in the snow and grass. “And keep these people away!”

The world compresses in on him momentarily, and then they are in his living room. Harry hears Theo and Draco shouting, confusion and panicked voices. They’re shouting about blood, and Harry realizes he’s soaked in it and so is Ron. He’s sitting in the middle of the floor, staining the carpet when suddenly Theo’s arms are around him.

“Come on, love. Stand up.”

Harry nods and rises, leaning against him.

“He hasn’t slept in weeks, Nott.”

“I’ve got him, Ron. Go home. Go home to Hermione.”

“There was so much blood. And he just kept talking. He kept talking about her. About the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.”

Harry is leaning into Theo’s side, and then he’s being scooped off of his feet and he’s laying against Theo’s chest. 

“I just wanted to make him stop talking.” Ron is repeating himself, crying as he pounds his chest in anguish.

“I’ll get him home.” Draco is speaking in a soothing voice, a voice Harry hasn’t heard him use very often before. 

Theo nods against Harry’s cheek. It is a moment before Harry realizes they’ve moved through the bedroom. He’s in a warm bath. The water is red. So red. And then Theo is climbing in with him, wrapping him in his arms. He doesn’t realize he is shivering until Theo is crushing him to him.

“Hotter.”

Theo complies immediately and the water is slowly warming up.

“What time is it?”

“Just after three.”

“One week. It’ll be four years in one week.”

Theo’s thumb brushes over his cheek, and he realizes he’s crying.

“I’m sorry.”

“Always sorry, Potter.” Theo murmurs into his ear. “Never need to be.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and it makes Harry angry. “Everyone keeps saying that. But they’re all dying. One a time, I keep losing everyone. Everything I do is wrong, it’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough.”

He is gasping for air, choking as he cries out. “She’s dead. She’s dead and it’s because of me. Everyone who has died since her? All because of me. Because I can’t figure it out. I can’t find the answer in this nightmare game of chess we’re playing.  And I am sorry! I’m so fucking sorry that I can’t breathe, Theo. I can’t breathe! I just can’t. I can’t. I. I just. I.”

They lay there in the red tinged water for what feels like hours before Harry can speak again.

“There’s only one left, and then my chances of finding this sonofabitch are gone. We’ve used everything we can, we can’t find a trace of magic anywhere. All of their wands are missing. They all die the exact same way.”

“Who was it tonight?”

Harry sighs. “You’ll hear soon enough, anyway. Gideon Crumb.”

“The bagpipe player from the Weird Sisters?”

Harry nods, his eyes closed as he leans back against Theo.

“Pansy’s going to be in a right mood. They’re supposed to play at the party next week…” Theo pauses before continuing. “I remember them playing at the Yule Ball fourth year.”

“Yeah.” Harry breathes and they are silent for a time more.

“Eleven… what’s the lyric?”

Harry swallows, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Pipers. Eleven pipers piping.”

“Shit.” He’s running his fingers through Harry’s hair, rinsing the dirt and blood from his scalp as he replenishes the blood tinged water with fresh, clear. “What’s the next one?”

“Twelve.”

“Shove off.” Theo chuckles softly. “Just because I’m not an Auror… I _can_ count, you know.”

“Sorry. Drummers… drumming.”

“This is the strangest song, love. Muggles are weird.”

Harry laughs, pushing himself to standing and grabbing a towel. “I need to get back to work.”

“Sleep for awhile, Harry. Please.”

“There’s so much to do.”

“Just a couple of hours. I’ll wake you. I promise. Just come lay with me.”

Harry considers him for a moment.

“Please, Harry. I miss you.”

“Three hours.” It feels like an eternity, but maybe fresh perspective will come with a bit of sleep.

“I’ll take it.” Theo says, drying off as he stands. “Don’t forget about me while you’re off saving the world, Potter. I need you, too.” 

“It’s all for you now, Theo. Everything. All of it.”

Theo smiles as they climb into bed, his head on Harry’s chest. “Don’t you forget it.”

 

 

<——————————->

 

 

December 23, 2009

“Of course they want to suspend you. You beat the shit out of him!”

“I apologized!”

“Not sure those words were felt the same way as your fists, mate. Besides, it’s paid leave. Over Christmas. Sounds like a vacation to me.” 

“Like I fucking want to take off right now.” Ron spits. “I told him not until December’s over. There’s too much at stake.”

“January paid leave. Good, go somewhere tropical for a break.” 

Ron shrugs, staring at the board again. “Alright, he’s been both abstract and literal. So there’s no predicting that. Have you looked up to see if there are any Slytherin drummers? Everyone killed has been recent Hogwarts attendees— reasonably around our years.”

“Not Lucius.” Harry counters, pointing at the number 10.

“Not Lucius.” Ron agrees, chewing on his quill. “Well, no. But his son was.”

“And either way. No famed drummers of Slytherin.”

“Female or male?”

“Would you like to check the list yourself?” Harry grumbles.

“No.” Ron waves him off. “But everyone has been connected with us.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Ron.”

“Oi. I’m the one with the dead sister.” Ron glares at him.

“Wife. Dead wife. Trumps sister.” Holding a finger up in Ron’s face.

Ron moves to argue further when an owl flutters onto Harry’s desk. Harry’s lips are pursed. “They don’t appreciate my declining the invite to Mr. Crumb’s service.”

“Lots of people angling for one of those. Golden boy, dark lord killer, will the perks ever cease?”

Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes as he leans back in his chair. “Yes, a standing invite to any funeral I want to attend. What a bloody honor, Ron. Really, you should be jealous.”

“Any location clues?”

“Nope, they’ve died all over. Water, land, hangings, stabbing, suffocating, burning… only their throat injuries are identical, the cause of death.

There is a knock at the door and Theo is standing there. Harry smiles involuntarily when he sees him before standing and crossing the room to him.

“Stabbing, burning and suffocating, eh? I see I arrived at just the right time.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry kisses him quickly as Ron waves hello over his shoulder. 

“Can’t just be checking in on my fiancé?”

Harry cocks an eyebrow. “Theo.”

“Alright.” Theo clicks his tongue. “I know you probably won’t be home tonight, but I just wanted you to know I won’t be there, if you do come home.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and sits down on the corner of his desk. “Alright…”

“I’m heading to Parkinson’s with Draco now. Apparently with the Weird Sisters unable to perform last minute, Pansy and Astoria have some new plan and I’m fairly certain I’m wearing a costume and going to hate every minute of it. So, be sure not to miss my public humiliation tomorrow night, yeah?”

Harry shakes his head as he stands. “Just be safe, okay?”

Theo pulls Harry close to him, enveloping him tightly. “I’m barely a Slytherin anymore. Just come home safe to me, Potter.”

“I’ll make it up to you, when this is all through. Next month. We’ll go somewhere.”

“Just come home.”

Harry smiles as Theo releases him, pushing back to stare at him.  “Promise.” 

There isn’t a lot of time left and Harry feels as if they’ve come to another brick wall. He knows the next victim will turn up anytime now, and as he watches Theo’s retreating back, Harry is desperate to end this. He wants it over and done with, to be back home, married and living quietly in peace.

“Start again.” He murmurs to Ron.

“11 known victims. Cause of death: complete severance of the carotid artery and trachea. Commonalities: all victims attended Hogwarts School of Magic. To date: 3 known Gryffindor, 3 Hufflepuff, 3 Ravenclaw, 2 Slytherin.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Keep going.”

“All in December. Never on the same date.”

“The first three were.”

“No. Ginny was the last Gryffindor. On Christmas Eve.”

“Which is technically before the real 12 days anyway.” Harry interrupts and Ron shrugs.

“Artistic liberties? Anyway, we found Alicia and Parvati on the 24th, but time of death was the 23rd for Alicia and Parvati, they said. That Christmas Eve was,” he swallows, “a busy day.”

Harry is speaking again “They were Numbered 2 - 12… but Spinnet.”

“Well, they couldn’t really see her face very well, could they? What was left of it.”

“But, that’s so unlike the rest. And what significance does she hold to the partridge or pear tree?”

“First victims. Maybe he was sloppy?”

“Doubtful…”

“So, you’re saying there’re potentially only two Gryffindor victims the first year? “Even though Parvati and Alicia were together? That brings us no closer to anything.” Ron looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and he sounds wearier than Harry has heard in a long time.

“Harry, I’m not sure what else to find here. There’s no further information. No witnesses. No leads. Just bodies and a song you swear you heard.”

“I did.” Harry sinks forward in frustration, his hands splayed on the desk.

“It’s well after midnight, mate. I told Hermione I’d be home to help with a few things, not too late. I’ve already blown that. Maybe we’ll…” he shrugs his shoulders. “Get lucky? Maybe he can’t count. Maybe Gideon was it…”

Harry gives him a skeptical look.

“It’s officially Christmas Eve now. He missed his window. Maybe we’ll have until next year for a grand finale?” Ron finishes sourly before scooping up his bag and waving goodbye.

Harry takes the stack of files one at a time and rifles through them. He tosses a few ice cubes into a glass and pours himself a whiskey from the shelf, sipping slowly. His eyes glaze as he reads through each in turn.

_December 16, 2009: Gideon Crumb, aged 34, last seen by bandmates leaving a rehearsal for an upcoming gig._ Parkinson’s, Harry thinks.

He tries to remember details from the night. There were muggles and wizards crowding nearby. Ron had rearranged the M.L.E’s face fairly well. A fair number of obliviations had occurred.

The hours tick by as he crawls through each file, laboriously, studying the details for anything he may have missed.

_December 1, 2009: Lucius Malfoy, aged 55, last seen leaving Madame Malkins_ _where he picked up a set of dress robes..._

He flashes back to the night. Lucius was found by a young muggle couple walking home. Another obliviate. Lords a Leaping.

Harry drains his glass and pours another as he sifts through the files.

_December 4, 2008: Padma Patil, aged 29. Last seen leaving work at 6pm. Found outside the Leaky Cauldron with a bag over her head, adorned in turquoise robes, at 11:57pm by one muggle, Ms. Valeria Bidva, on her way to…_

This one had been particularly difficult, having lost Parvati the first year. Padma’s connection had stumped them originally. She hadn’t been on her way to or from a holiday party, just home as far as her coworkers reported, so why was she dressed up? It had taken Hermione reminding them of Ron’s date to the Yule Ball their fourth year. Ladies Dancing.

He startles, his head snapping up, and he is awake again when his glass hits the desk, cursing himself for wasted time, before picking up the next file.

_December 12, 2007:_ “Calling Birds,” he murmurs as he pulls Justin Finch-Fletchley’s file toward him. The only muggle-born, and another member of the D.A. He’d been stabbed repeatedly, but they had determined he’d been dead before. His throat was sliced all the same and a number four carved into his forehead.

It’s after noon now, and Harry is nauseous with exhaustion. His eyes are heavy as he rests his forehead in his palm. Most were found by Muggles. But not Ginny. She was found by Harry. In their home. Under their tree.

His eyes close as he recalls the evening. He’d been on his way home to see her when he and Ron got the call about Parvati and Alicia Spinnet. It was gruesome, his stomach positively rolling at the sight. The fire had raged quickly, there was no hope of putting it out fast enough. They’d found Parvati, burnt, but intact. Her throat was slit and a number 2 sliced perfectly into her forehead. She was cradled in Alicia’s arms, protected beneath her body. But Alicia… it had taken neighbors reports of her running into the flaming house to identify her. The ceiling had caved in under the flames, there wasn’t much left in the wreckage.

It wasn’t until later, after Ginny, after the note, that they had even begun to piece it together. They’d assumed they were the first two victims. Turtle doves for Parvati, separated from Padma with such finality. But, Alicia, they hadn’t made a solid connection. Flimsy guesses at best. And Ginny…

Ginny had owled him earlier about a surprise. Good news. But, Harry and Ron needed a drink after Patil and Spinnet. It was Christmas Eve and he’d wanted to be composed by the time he got home to her. By the time they’d finished with the fire, with Alicia and Padma... it was too late. Even if he’d gone straight home, it would have been too late, they told him. But it didn’t matter. He’d failed her.

The screaming is there again, filling his mind. It had taken him minutes to realize it was his own voice. There was so much blood, he kept thinking, holding his hands over her throat as it bubbled through his fingers. Quiet laughter filtered between his screams, and then the song is playing again, a cacophony of sounds as his eyes burn and the world spins around him. Blood stained parchment pinned to her robes bore the scrawl of now familiar handwriting. “ _Thanks for the gift, Harry. For your third victim at Christmas, I present to you... your past, your present, and what would have been your future. The start and end of something new.”_

Harry jerks awake a second time, the sound of a small object hitting the floor. It is dark again in his office and he realizes it is late as he stands and searches for the source of the noise.

A single green pear is rolling on the floor. He picks it up, wand raised as he inspects it. It is bruised where it landed, but otherwise unblemished.

The hair on the back of his neck is raised, almost painfully as he scans the room.

“Ron?” He is greeted with silence in return. Glancing at the time, he sees that it is after 5pm. Ron should have returned hours ago. He glances at the floor and sees scraps of paper settled in front of the fireplace.

_“Harry, got caught up with Hermione and the pups. Meet you at Parkinson’s. - Ron”_

And another. _“You’re already late if you’re reading this, Potter. Get a move on. - T.N.”_

The office is quiet again as Harry gathers his cloak and a handful of Floo Powder. Something doesn’t feel right. He’s on his knees now, calling into the dark living room for Ron and Hermione.

A small child toddles into view and Harry smiles. “Rose!”

“Uncle Harry!” Toothy grin.

“Where’re your mum and dad?”

A teenaged witch comes running into view with an infant on her hip. “Oh, Mr. Potter! I’m so sorry. I was changing Hugo.” She takes Rose’s hand and pulls her from in front of the fire. “Mrs. Weasley already left for the party.”

“Is Ron still there, Tricia?”

“No. Mrs. Weasley said he was with you and would meet her there.”

Harry swallows a curse.  “Tricia. Move back, I’m coming through.”

He enters their sitting room and Rose immediately jumps into his arms.

Tricia is staring at him, open mouthed. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s not right. I’m warding you into the house. Get in the kids bedroom and stay here until Ron, Hermione or I return for you. Answer for no one.” He is closing the floor, his wand is flying as he sets enchantments around the house, walking toward the children’s room.

She pales as he is speaking. “But—”

“Stay in the house. Close the floo. I’ll lock the door. Set the wards. Answer for no one. Where is your wand?”

She blinks.

“Your wand!”

She reaches into her pocket with her free hand and brandishes it with a trembling fist.

“Haven’t you just finished your 7th year?”

“N-no. I’m in my 7th now.”

“It’ll do. In the bedroom. Now. The Weasleys and I can all still get in, but no one else must. No one. Take the children. Go.” 

She is nodding, taking Rose into her arms from Harry. “Mr. Potter, I—” 

“Tricia. I must go. You will be safe. I promise.” 

He turns on his heel and walks through the front door, setting wards and sealing it as he races down the front walk. He looks it over once more and then apparates directly to Pansy’s.

 

 

<——————————->

 

December 24, 2009

 

It is after 6pm when Harry arrives at the end of Pansy’s drive. He looks up the hill and groans “Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s at least a mile run up the hill. Leave it to Parkinson to set her apparition wards this far.

He’s panting and sweating through the chill by the time he arrives at her front door.

“Your invitation, sir?” A snooty looking elderly man with a white beard and red robes is standing at the door, staring rather bored at the ground by Harry’s feet.

“Sorry.“ Harry said gazing at the man. “Are you supposed to be Santa?“

“Santa Claus is coming to town.” Drawls the grumpy old man. “Congratulations. You have successfully identified the first carol for Miss Parkinson’s Very Merry Muggle Christmas.”

Harry jumps as music starts tinkling around them. “ _You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry…”_  

“Let me in.” 

“Invitation, please.” The man repeats before looking up. “Oh! Mr. Potter.” The tone of his voice changes now. “My apologies. I didn’t realize it was you! Certainly, please come in! Er— you realize this is a formal event?”

The door swings open and Harry runs in, ignoring the man as the door closes and the sounds of the song fade behind him. He stops short as he enters the frosted foyer, a new song lingering on the air. _“I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow.”_

Everything is white and silver with flecks of blue. Icicles hang from the ceiling, house elves are walking around with trays of champagne. If it weren’t so damned beautiful, it would look like Christmas had puked all over Pansy’s estate. He steps forward and nearly knocks over a small house elf carrying a silver tray. “May I offer you a drink, Mr. Potter?”

Harry sidesteps him and takes off at a run down the hall. “Ron!” He calls out, scanning the crowd as he sprints for the ballroom.

“Hermione!” He slips on the floor as he rounds the corner, sliding in a pile of snow. It is falling all around him and the lights are low. “ _And since we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow…”_

“This place is a hazard.” Harry snaps as he stands back to his feet.

“Excuse me, Sir?” A man stops to help him from the floor. “If you would stop shouting, I’m sure I can I help you, sir-- Oh! Mr. Potter.”

“I’m looking for Hermione and Ron Weasley.”

“I’m not certain I’ve seen them yet. The main ballroom doesn’t open until 7pm, when the ground here will be covered in a lovely blanket of snow. But, if you would follow me this way, the guests are enjoying hors d'oeuvres while they wait.

The house elf is back, standing behind the man’s shoulder bouncing on his tiptoes, the tray stretched over his head. “May I interest you in a cocktail, Mr Potter?”

The man snaps at the elf “Foyer and Library _only_! Off with you!”

Harry is back on his feet. “I think something’s wrong this evening. Very wrong. I need to see Ron and Theodore. Theodore Nott, he’s here. And Ms. Parkinson.”

He runs to the ballroom doors and is pulling on them, whipping out his wand and shouting. But, it is futile. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Nott and Ms. Parkinson are already in the ballroom. The doors will not open for another half hour. But, I can help you find the rest of your party whilst you wait.” 

“It can’t wait!” Harry is bellowing Theo’s name now through the door, pounding with all of his might. 

“Sir? I fail to see… you’re creating a scene. Please come this way. Perhaps your guests are already there.” 

Harry stares at him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. “Fine. Which way?”

The man points right down the hall and begins to lead him, but Harry dashes ahead of him, leaving him shouting. The house is too fucking big, he decides. He’s been running for what feels like hours now, and he’s no closer to finding anyone.

Skidding down the hall he turns and passes through the archway. There are hundreds of people milling around, laughing and drinking. There is a choir at the end, and they are singing to silver bells hanging from the ceiling. _“...all seem to say, throw cares away…”_

“Would you care for a drink, sir?” The house elf is thrusting a tray toward him, again.

“No, thank you!” Harry is walking as quickly as he can through the room, peering right and left. “Ron! Hermione!”

People are staring at him, but he doesn’t care. He turns to the right and nearly trips over the house elf again. It sends him sprawling to the floor.

“Harry?” 

He looks up, and his heart leaps. “Hermione. Am I bloody glad to see you. Where’s Ron?”

“He’s with you.”

His stomach sinks. “No.”

“He never came home last night. I thought he was with you.” She’s helping him to stand and smoothing his robes. “You look a fright. Didn’t you change? Theo won’t be pleased to see you in your work robes, Harry.”

“Why did you think Ron was with me?”

“He sent me a note. Said he’d meet me here.” 

“Hermione, something is wrong.”

Her nose is pinched as she stares at him. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Number 12, Hermione. Ron is missing.”

Her mouth falls open, a small O on her lips as the color drains from her face. “Ron. The children. The owl. They know where we live. Oh my god, Harry.” 

“The children are safe. I’ve warded them with Tricia. We need to find Ron.” 

He turns to scan the room, and there is a tray under his nose again levitating in front of him this time. He looks down and sees the same damned elf. “I don’t want a fucking drink!” 

“Please sir!” The elf croaks. “Take it.”

Harry blinks, staring at the tray and lifts the glass. There, underneath it, a parchment folded and emblazoned with the number 12. Hermione’s eyes are wide and terrified as she meets his gaze.

“The ballroom is now open!” He hears the call ringing through the room. Suddenly the crowd is moving and he is shunted along with them toward the ballroom.

Harry reaches for Hermione as the crowd thrusts them along, pulling her from his reach.  

“Harry!” Her voice is terrified and he is fighting against the crowd to get to her. He’s jostled hard and his arm is pinned to his side. He clutches the parchment tighter in his hand, but his wand is ripped from his grasp.

“Shit.” He can no longer see her through the horde of people, and he’s struggling to fight the flow of the crowd. “Hermione!”

The crowd is gasping, oohs and ahhs fill his ears as they clear the doors and the crowd disperses. And then he hears it and his heart stops cold. The sounds of a harp floats on the air, and he recognizes the tune immediately, his mind providing the missing lyrics. “ _... my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree.”_

He’s scanning the room left and right when he hears the ballroom doors slam shut again. Twelve platforms float twenty feet above them in the air, circling overhead. Only the first is currently lit and he can barely make out its representation of the lyrics, and he strains to see the rest, swirling in the dark overhead.

He spares a glance back to the crowd, searching for Hermione, but he cannot find her anywhere. _“...of Christmas, my true love gave to me Three French hens…”_ A voice, faint over the crowd, is singing, and it sends chills down Harry’s spine as Ginny’s face, visions of red swim through his mind.

And then there are more voices joining in as the song repeats, over and over again, the crowd picking up the words. They are laughing, glasses clinking in the air in appreciation of the spectacle. Platform after platform floats into the light, and Harry is frantic.

“Stop singing. Stop the music.” He whispers, staring at the ceiling.

“ _Nine ladies dancing, Eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six geese a laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”_

They’re all laughing and then it is ten. The platform is directly above him now, and he strains his eyes to see. There is a man, perched on the edge, and the crowd grows louder as they cheer. Blonde hair, eyes glazed and frozen in place.

“Fuck.” Harry whispers, transfixed above him. Draco is standing on the platform crouched as if to jump, and the music plays on. _“My true love gave to me, ten lords a leaping...”_

Harry waits, holding his breath, but Draco stands there, still frozen as the tune continues.

And then there are eleven pipers piping, and as he sees Astoria frozen on the edge, he realizes there are people on every platform, floating above him, paralyzed in place as they circle overhead.

The crowd has stopped singing and they are staring, frozen in horror as the realization that something is very wrong spills over them.

The music fades and a lone voice, familiar and filled with laughter rings through the ballroom. _“For your twelfth victim of Christmas, Mr. Potter, I present to you…”_

The music changes as the sound of a steady drum beat fills the air..

_“Come, they told me, Pa rum pum pum pum.”_

Harry’s heart stops entirely as the final platform shines bright overhead. Theo is standing there on the edge, his face blank and staring straight ahead.

The crowd is screaming and the man above waves his wand, silencing then all. 

“Theo!” Harry shouts, reaching into the air. He’s waving his hands, but Theo does not see him. He sees nothing as he stares straight ahead.

Harry wants to vomit as the song continues.

“ _A Weasley King to see, Pa rum pa pum pum.”_

And then there is Ron on the first platform. All twelve are in a circle overhead now, slowly lighting one by one. He’s turning, angling and craning his neck to see each platform as those he loves the most spin around him. His gaze flits back and forth as the lights flicker and he can make out their faces.

Ron.

Draco.

Astoria.

Theodore.

He sucks in air quickly as the light flickers again.

Pansy stands tall, her eyes hollow.  

Molly.

Arthur.

Hermione. She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes terrified where the others are blank. Harry follows her gaze and his heart sinks through the floor.

There is Rose and then Hugo in Tricia’s arms, frozen on the edge, as if asleep.

The lights flicker again and dimly light a slight man Harry barely recognizes. One empty platform remains next to him. The man laughs, and Harry knows it is him.

“Come and join us, Harry.”

Everyone is staring at him now, silent as the music continues, the drums beating over and over in a never ending round.

“I’ve saved a place for you, Harry.”

Harry is still staring, wracking his brain, trying to place him. “I seem to have misplaced my wand.”

The man laughs, it is filled with excitement and familiar, amplified through the room. “The great Harry Potter? Misplacing his wand? Oh, now you’ve disappointed me once again.”

“Come down here and let’s talk.” Harry is trying to keep his voice calm, keep him talking.

“No, I don’t think so. Though, I’d be glad to send you someone if you’d like.” He laughs again as each of them wobble on the edge precariously. 

Harry lunges forward, not sure which direction to run. Hermione is the only one who seems to be cognizant of what’s going on, and Harry hears her screaming as she stares at Rose and Hugo.

“Stop!” Harry screams.

“No!” The man’s voice is cold and Harry is drawn back to him.

“Step into the light.” Harry demands. “Show yourself.” 

“It was his favorite carol, you know.” The man whispers, and his voice sounds as if it’s coming from everywhere. _“Fiiiiiiiive golden rings.”_

Astoria is suddenly falling, the crowd is screaming  and Harry races toward her, no plan, no wand. She stops just out of reach of his finger tips and hovers there.

“Stop this!” Harry roars.

“Ah, there he is. Harry Potter, ladies and gentleman.” The man chuckles.

“Coward! Show yourself!” Harry is crackling with anger. 

“Wrong again!” The man snaps and Astoria awakens, her eyes clearing, widening as she takes in the room around her. Her mouth opens soundlessly, her eyes locked with Harry’s before she begins to rise slowly once more. She’s back on her platform and only her eyes can move as they flit back and forth around the room before locking with Hermione’s.

“You were his hero.”

Harry is silent. Adrenaline is coursing through him, his heart is racing, stomach coils tightly and sweat gathers at his brow, but he shows no sign outwardly. His eyes and hands are steady. “I’m no hero.”

Eyes flash and they all wobble at the edge once again.

“I won’t play this game with you. Tell me what you want.”

“Oh, you will play. You have played for four years now, Harry. But, I— I’ve played much longer. Do you know how he worshipped you? Loved you? Do you even remember him?” The man is pacing now, the lights still flickering above.

“Harry Potter. The boy, the legend, the hero. I had heard about you for two years. In every letter, at every break. You were his hero.  Then I met you, and you became mine as well, but only ever second to _him_.”

Harry’s mind is racing as he pieces together bits of the story, trying to place him, trying to find a way out.

“Oh, Harry. How he loved you. How we loved you. But what is it they say about love?”

“Love is the strongest, most powerful magic. Love saves.” Harry supplies.

“No, that’s not the one.” The man chuckles coldly. “Ah, yes, there is a fine line between love and hate.”

“You disappeared that last year. Our hero. Gone. Fighting, we hoped. And we couldn’t go back. Our entire family went on the run, we hid. ‘ _I want to be brave, like Harry!’_ Oh, the hiding, the running— _cowardice_ he called it. He hated it, hated what we’d become. But he listened, every night, to the wireless, sneaking it in the dark, looking for signs of you, just waiting for the moment, any moment you might call for him.” The man’s voice is hard, and then cracks.

“Did you know we were captured? Snatchers, they called them. They tortured him. I watched, I listened as he screamed. He would never betray you. His devotion was unyielding. But I was not so strong, not when it was my turn. Not when I watched them kill my father. And then you called. His hero. They left us there, racing back at _his_ command to finish you.”

The pieces are clicking into place and Harry is fairly certain, he’s almost sure…

“And do you know what he did, my brother? He left us there, he left me, holding my father's body. He left for you. To defend you. To fight for you. To die for you. He died for his hero, and I was left alone.”

“Dennis.” Harry whispers.

“Say _his_ name, Harry! I’ve watched you since that day! I’ve watched you, his hero, move on. I watched you look to your friends, your family, take care of yourself. Move on! Harry Potter married! Harry Potter an Auror! Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world! Creating a good life, all of your _fucking_ dreams come true! But what of his dreams? Crushed in an instant fighting for _you,_ his _hero!_ ”

“Colin.” Harry whispers, and in an instant he is transported back to the final battle. He sees Colin there, in Neville and Oliver’s arms. He sees Oliver lifting him, hoisting him over his shoulders. _Tiny in death,_ he had thought. “Colin was the hero, Dennis. Not me.”

“Yes!” Dennis shrieks, his arms flying wildly into the air. “My hero! Your hero! And not a word from Harry Potter. I waited. I _waited_ for _years_ , and there was never a word from you. I lost _everything_ , _everyone_ , for the sake of Harry _fucking Potter,_ my brothers hero. You went on. You made a life! And not a _word!”_

Dennis is panting now, pacing back and forth on the platform. “Everyone here believes you to be such a hero. The great and powerful, dark lord defeating Harry Potter. Built on the backs of greater men and women, witches and wizards, like the ones here.” He gestures to the crowd on the ground around Harry.

“And here.” He lights all of the platforms now, each of their occupants waking at once.  And then they plummet forward until their toes alone are connected with each of the platforms, floating perpendicular to the ground. Eleven shining faces with round terrified eyes stare down at him.

Harry watches as they come to, their mouths opening and closing silently as they take in their surroundings. His eyes flit between each of them, settling on Theo, before the lights go out again.

“One final game, Harry. Will it be the father you never had?”

Arthur is lit now, staring down at him. His eyes shining. _My son_ , Harry can see it in his eyes and he knows Arthur, were he able to move, would be shaking his head. He holds his eyes for a moment before they move to Molly, and Harry follows his gaze. 

“Or, perhaps the mother?”

Molly is lit now, her eyes beaming down at him. There is no fear, only love, pride. Harry is sure she would be smiling at him if she could, and then she is returning Arthur’s gaze.

“Or the brother?”

Ron is lit. His eyes are hard, fiery and enraged as they flicker wordlessly between Hermione, Hugo, Rose and Harry. The vein in the side of his head is pulsing, and Harry knows he is murderous with fear and anger. Not for himself, but for his wife and children. Harry nods, locking eyes with him.

“Maybe the sister? The third part of the golden trio. Always following in your footsteps, your superior in every way, but shrouded in your shadow like _everyone else!”_

Hermione, who has been present to hear it all, is staring at him, and he doesn’t need to hear her voice to understand the silent plea. _Save the children._

“But no, aren’t we due a Slytherin tonight?”

Four more lights slowly spark into brilliance.

Astoria’s face, pale but calm.

Pansy, silent anger rippling from her in every way.

Draco is stone faced, his mouth pressed in a grim line, and Harry knows.

And then Theo. And his heart speeds again. So Slytherin as he stares down at Harry. Harry’s knees shake as they lock eyes. _I love you_ his heart is screaming wildly. Does he know? Has he told him enough? Can he convey it silently enough, impress it into Theo’s heart and soul so that there is no chance he is unaware?

“I’m sorry.” Harry whispers.

They are bobbing in the air as Dennis’ hands wave wildly, wringing with frantic energy.

“Sorry?” Dennis cackles. “You don’t know the meaning of sorry, yet!”

“You are their hero, Harry. But, if you can save only one… who will it be?”

“I can’t choose.”

“But, you must.”

“I won’t.”

“Then they will all die.”

“No!”

“YES, Harry! I’ve done the hard part for you, these last four years. I’ve made the choices for you. Everyone has made the choices for you, your entire life! But I created you this little game. I kept you on the run for years now, chasing me around in circles, so you would know what it felt like. Running, but never fast enough.”

“Stop this, please.” Harry whispers.

“The first year was hardest, I’ll admit. And then it became rather fun.” He paused, swallowing.

“I had to be more careful after Alicia ran in there. I’d always liked her, there was no need for her to die. But I hadn’t realized, I was stupid. I’d not known they were in love… It was easy, slitting Parvati’s throat.”

He pulls a wand from thin air, twirling it in his fingers before setting it to float in front of him. Harry recognizes it, vaguely, as Parvati’s missing wand.

“It was too easy. I was calm. You’d have been proud. Poor little Dennis, Colin’s ickle brother. Come in! How have you been? Known and remembered just enough, and just small enough to be harmless.” He laughs again.

“And then I set the fire. I didn’t want to make it too easy on you. But, I needn’t have worried, you were slower than I planned. Stupider, really, I should have expected it.” He sighs.

“Except Alicia ran in after her, desperate to save her lover, and so you thought _she_ was the first Gryffindor victim.”

“Colin.” Harry whispers, his voice soft and clear.  

“Yes! _Your_ victim.” He produces another wand, setting it to hover in front of him. “The best gift you ever gave me, Harry. Setting me free of your spell! Did you put all of the pieces together? Did you figure them out?”

Harry nods slowly. “Most. I think.”

His eyes are locked with Theo’s again. His face is still expressionless, but Harry can see sadness, pity in his eyes, and it makes him want to cry. They don’t flinch, never once looking away from one another as Dennis continues to speak. 

“Do you know how _she_ fought for life? She was the most difficult, you know. _Harry will be delighted to see you!_ She was so warm. I can see why you loved her. Such a shame. I almost hesitated. She was the most difficult, of course. I’m not a monster. To snuff out the life of your wife and child at once? But it was unavoidable.”

Theo’s eyes widen as Harry takes a second longer to process.

“My— my what?”

Dennis stares at him, calculating, before he breaks into a wide grin, teeth glinting in the light as he throws his head back and laughs.  

“You didn’t know?”

Harry can feel the blood coursing through his veins. His hands are tingling as he attempts to control his breathing. “Ginny was pregnant.”

“ _Your past, present and future_. I _told_ you, Harry.” Dennis rolls his eyes, mustering every ounce of pity into his voice as he says Harry’s name.

“Your three Gryffindor victims, plus one. Such a shame. I should thank her, of course. Someday I’ll have the opportunity.” Dennis scoffs and then Ginny’s wand is floating mid-air as well.

“This wand gave me access to them.” He gestures at Rose and Hugo, still floating as if sleeping, Hugo clutched in Tricia’s arms.

“Of course, I’d imagined it would have gutted you, I wanted to watch you suffer. But then you rose again, a Phoenix from the ashes, and found new love.” He waves and Theo begins to turn wildly in the air, over and over.

“Stop!” Harry shouts.

“No.” Dennis sounds bored. “Then the Hufflepuffs. Ernie was a fighter, by the way. But who would imagine little Dennis Creevey, Harry Potter’s biggest fan, the Gryffindor, to be of danger? And then the Ravenclaws. Padma was particularly delightful. _It was you?_ She asked right before I slit her throat. And then she smiled. _She smiled!_ Do you know her last word? _Parvati._ Turtle doves. I had been correct.”

By now there are 11 wands floating in front of him, each of the victims’, glistening in the ballroom. Theo is still spinning, slowing with every revolution, and Harry feels sick.

“But here we are now, Harry. At the end. It’s to be a Slytherin. 12 losses, magnifying what you took from me.”

“I won’t choose.”

“You will. We’ve all done the work for you. Your entire life as a wizard is built on the backs and lives of others. And everyone thinks you’re a hero.” 

His voice changes suddenly as he screams. “YOU ARE NO HERO, HARRY POTTER! You are not mine, not theirs,” he waves at each of his friends, his family, floating in the air, “and not theirs!” Dennis gestures at the crowd in the ballroom. 

Everyone is staring at him, but he sees no panic in their eyes. Only love. They love him. Their lives are hanging in the balance, and there is only forgiveness radiating toward him. He meets each of their eyes in turn, and so clearly sees it: _Me, Harry. Take me._

_“_ Perhaps a moment to plead their cases?”

Pansy speaks first. “You made it to my party, Potter.” She winks, her face red from hanging for so long.

“Sorry I was late.” Harry locks eyes with her.

She shrugs “Would’ve been a great party. Little Dennis Creevey helped me plan the entire theme. He has a knack for planning, you may have noticed.”

“Enough!” Dennis snaps. “Tell him to save you, Parkinson. Tell him he’s your hero.”

Pansy looks at Dennis, her lips pull back in a snarl. “Potter _is_ my hero, and he most certainly won’t save me.” She’s laughing as Dennis purses his lips and she begins to turn in the air.

“Harry.” It’s Astoria now.

“Astoria.”

“How’s my first muggle party?” Astoria laughs and Harry winces, shaking his head. “Think Pansy will let me help again in the future?”

She turns her head to face Draco. “I love you.”

“You know what to do, Harry.” She says before she, too, is spinning wildly in the air.

Draco looks bored as he stares at Dennis rather than Harry. “Pathetic. Gryffindors are so emotional.”

“Beg him.” Dennis orders.

“No.” He smiles and then he rolls.

Dennis points at Theo, but he remains silent as he stares at Harry. No words are necessary.

Dennis is angry. “No one begs. Not a single one. I told them all beforehand. Bound them, explained they were dying _for you_. And no one begged. I BEGGED when they were torturing us, Harry. I begged for Colin. I begged for me. I begged for my father!”

He’s pointed all of the wands on Draco now. “You saved him. I heard. I heard the story. It was the final straw, what gave me my purpose for the last years. My brother returned to fight for you, and you saved this Slytherin, who had tortured and persecuted you for years, and let my brother die!”

“I would have saved every single one of them if I could have, Dennis. No one should have died for me. I never asked for it. I never wanted it.”

“One more then, Harry. One final feather in your cap.”

“Do you know how much Colin loved you?” Harry’s voice breaks as he speaks and Dennis’ eyes snap to his.

“You’ve stood here and told me of your love for your brother. He was your hero. But do you realize how much he loved you? I remember the first day, when he told me you were coming to Hogwarts.”

“Stop.”

“No, no I won’t stop. The pride in his voice as he told me about you. About your family. He sent you photos, told you stories.”

“Stories about you!”

“But _for_ you! Because he was proud. Because he loved you. Because he wanted to share everything about his life and this world of magic he had discovered _with_ you. His story was for you!”

“Magic destroyed our lives. It destroyed our family! We were happy. We had a simple life. But it was ours and it was filled with love.” Dennis is shaking now, blinking as his arm trembles.

“Colin died to protect that love! To protect you. To protect your family and everything good about your life.”

“He left us there. He left me, with our father in my arms, to go fight by your side. That is no story I want to live.” A tear escapes down Dennis’ cheek now, and Harry’s heart is broken for this man who has spent so long trying to destroy his life.

“It may have been in battle by my side, but that’s what we were all fighting for. He died to protect muggleborns, he fought for _you,_ Dennis. For you and Hermione and Justin. For himself! Colin was a hero, is a hero. Not me. He died to give _you_ the right to magic. The right to life! THAT is Colin’s story!”

Dennis is on his knees now, the lights flicker as his arm drops to his side, anger visibly leaving him, defeat and resignation taking its place. Eleven figures plummet suddenly 6ft, and screaming fills the room.

“No!” Harry screams, arms outstretched.

“I—” Dennis chokes, concentrating on them again as they float back to their positions, feet touching the edge of the platform once more. “I can’t hold them all, Harry. Not anymore. I’m not angry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I— I can’t— I don’t want this to be my story, Harry.”

“Give me a wand!”

“Help.” Dennis is panting from the effort. Grief and anguish overtake him. His eyes are wide as he tries to split his concentration. 

The crowd around Harry is moving again, whimpering and crying as Dennis’ hold wavers and they are released. There is pandemonium as people run for the exits, pushing and shoving one another in their haste to flee.

“Harry!” It is Hermione. They are all wobbling so fiercely in the air she can barely speak.  

Harry is looking around frantically, but there are people moving too quickly, pushing and shoving, and it is everything he can do to stay upright on his feet. “My wand! Any wand!” He is screaming.

Dennis moves to let go of his own wand, to drop it to Harry, and the platforms all tilt in the air. The air is rent with screaming as they all reach to hold on to an edge, their fingers making purchase  anywhere they can.

It all happens so quickly. Harry’s eyes widen as he sees Rose, Tricia and Hugo slipping through the air. Her hands aren’t free, occupied by Hugo, and Rose is too little to reach for anything.

Hermione is screaming and Ron is roaring. Harry is running, arms wide, fighting forward as he’s tossed backward, the last of the crowd fleeing the room.

It’s slow motion, many things happen at once. 

Harry hits the floor, his chin connecting with the marble, splitting open as he scrambles to return to his feet.

The victims wands are falling through the air, the platform prisoners each reaching to grab one. Hermione, Tricia and Draco make purchase. The rest plummet to the ground.

Dennis’s wand is swishing, stabilizing the remaining platforms, and Tricia is floating back upwards. But he misses Hugo and Rose, and Harry is sliding in the puddle of his own blood to get to them before they hit the floor.

And then Dennis is diving forward, accelerating through the air as he reaches, his fingers outstretched toward Hugo.

Harry runs, jumping into the air and reaching for Rose. She is heavy, a small boulder, and it knocks him to the ground. He lands on his back, his head snapping back onto the marble with a loud crack. 

His eyes are still locked on Dennis who lands with a sickening thud, Hugo cradled against his chest. A pool of blood spreads out from behind his head. He doesn’t move again.

Harry is trying to catch his breath, trying to sit up, Rose is screaming and crying against his chest. His lungs burn as he rolls over, clutching her to him as he runs toward Hugo.

The platforms are falling now, their occupants screaming. Draco, Hermione and Tricia are sweating with concentration, trying to slow their descent, but it is too much.

Harry grabs Dennis’ wand from the ground, clutching Rose to him, standing over Dennis and Hugo as he points to the ceiling. They slow further, rocking back and forth as they descend from the ceiling.

Harry’s knees finally give out as they all reach the floor. The room is spinning and he’s light headed, pain shooting through his kneecaps as they hit the ground with crack. Hermione and Ron are rushing toward him, scooping Rose from his arms and Hugo from the ground. Molly and Arthur are hot on their heels  

He’s on the ground now, lying next to Dennis, shaking. He can’t stop shaking as he stares into his lifeless eyes.

Each of their faces flash before him, Colin, Dennis, Ginny, Parvati, Alicia, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins, his family and friends floating above him, the terror in their faces, forgiveness and understanding, love for him.

And then there is Theo, and his arms are around him once more. He’s fuzzy and Harry’s tongue is thick in his mouth as he tries to speak.

“He's losing a lot of blood!”

“No, it’s Dennis.”

“No, I’m telling you! His head— someone help!”

“Fuck.”

Theo’s lips are crushing against his, kissing his forehead and his temple as he holds his hands against the back of Harry’s head.

“I’m sorry.”

Theo is laughing, tears and laughter as he chokes. “You’re always fucking sorry, Potter.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You _did._ You _always_ do.”

Ron is there now, stemming the flow of blood with his wand. Harry is breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused as Theo lifts him from the ground.

“Party’s over.” Pansy is looking around. “You Gryffindors really know how to make a mess.”

Harry smiles. “Sorry.”

“You know we’d have all killed you if you hadn’t chosen the kids, right?” She’s nodding toward Hugo and Rose, still clutched against Hermione and Molly’s chests. 

“More the heroes than I.” He mumbles, standing to his feet, leaning heavily against Theo.

“Get him out of here.” Draco is holding Astoria and nods to Theo.

“Need to write the report.”

“Tomorrow, Potter.” Theo shakes his head. “Tonight, you sleep.”

Harry doesn’t argue as they walk toward the doors, his head on Theo’s shoulder. Tomorrow he’ll right the wrongs. Tonight, he’ll sleep.


End file.
